The Two
by Notomys
Summary: As the first long interval drags on, the political tensions between Pern's powers reach a breaking point. Bear witness to the series of crimes leading up to Pern's darkest period of history.
1. Chapter 1

_After a good deal of thought, I've decided to re-structure "Crimes" and divide it into three separate stories. This story is the first instalment of the trilogy, and will provide a good deal of political back-story which has been lacking in the original incarnations of the story. I apologize for delays in updates, but have a good deal of backlog for this story, and should be updating weekly. I am also looking for a devoted beta-reader, if you are interested please PM me to learn the details. This story is AU and loosely follows canon._

_DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fanfiction. Dragonriders of Pern and all it's related concepts belong to Anne McCaffrey_

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**1216.10.03**

**_Ista Hold_**

Jebred poked his toe experimentally at the bubbling hole that the rockmite had disappeared into. He knew the moment the crustacean vanished under the tidal mud that he'd lost his prize, but still clung vainly to the hope that he'd be able to coax it out of its hiding place. He had watched the creature, which had been stranded by the low-tide, for some time with the sort of patience unusual for a boy his age. Although rockmites were of little interest to anybody other than young boys, Jebred couldn't help but feel as though some treasure was stolen from him. His expedition down to Blackstone Beach had been completely fruitless.

He gave the burrow a final shove, before losing interest and plopping unceremoniously in the shallow water. Jebred was making the unfortunate realization that although he had the entire beach to himself, such trips were much more enjoyable when they included friends. He sorely regretted getting into a brawl with Billiron the previous evening. Partially because his actions had clearly demonstrated to the other children the validity behind Billiron's claims that Jebred was nothing but a bully and a poor loser, but mostly because Billiron, four turns his senior, outweighed him by several kilograms. Jebred had previously possessed the unfailing confidence that there wasn't a 'brat in the whole of Ista he couldn't lick. Reality checks were painful.

He sighed, and shielded his eyes against the midday sun's harsh glare. He'd spent his entire life in maritime Ista, and through familiarity the splendour of his home's lush beaches was completely lost. The clear sky and cerulean ocean bored him. He scanned the horizon intently for a few moments, but quickly grew tired of the empty saline expanse. Part of him realized that his expectations for the day were entirely unrealistic and naïve, but he didn't want to admit his own foolishness. Although Blackstone could be treacherous for an adult to reach by foot, and therefore less popular than some of the more accessible beaches near his Hold, it was far from deserted. The rockmite had just been a distraction, his real quarry had been something much more elusive.

His attention was suddenly caught by a strange glint in the distance. For a wonderful, fleeting moment, he thought that maybe—

He squinted hard and tried to make out the brief sparkle that had caught his attention. He strained his eyes to catch another glimpse of the tell-tale glimmer that would've made the entire ordeal worthwhile, thinking longingly of all of the wonderful things he'd be able to do with a firelizard of his very own. A pretty gold thing, just like Captain Sarbine's Lady. His stomach twisted hungrily, pulling his mind back from fantasy. The sea was empty. The beach was deserted and he'd skipped breakfast that morning. Firelizards, especially golden queens, were for powerful men, not little boys. Whatever he had seen had probably just been some sort of illusion of the sun against the water.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Jabred couldn't drag his eyes from the horizon. The illusion of sun reflecting off of a metallic hide had been too convincing to simply dismiss. Then he saw it again; a brief flash of something completely alien in the sky. Although Jabred was not a timid boy, something like fear had crawled into his belly as the revelation of what he was actually seeing came into focus. Far off in the distance, little more than pinpricks in the sky, but drawing closer with each breath he took, was an entire wing of flaming dragons. The sheer absurdity of the sight paralyzed him to the spot. As the waves obliviously dragged at his ankles, he tried to search his mind for a logical explanation.

The complete absence of any recollection of overheard gossip led Jabred to sinister conclusions. Whatever was transpiring in the distant skies most likely held malicious intentions for his home. Without another moment's hesitation, the young boy began the short, but treacherous trek back to his home, leg's flashing in the sun. He scuttled up the sandy dunes and hidden bramble paths at an impressive pace. By the time the Hold's stone facade finally came into play he was completely winded. Ista Hold, like most Pernese settlements tended to do in the absence of Thread, had swollen far beyond it's original boundaries. To compensate for this, and the fact that during an Interval the enemies rarely came from the sky, Ista's latest series of lord holders had organized a rudimentary military. The role of the gaurdsmen was largely ornamental, a testimony to a given hold's wealth: both in terms of marks and in men.

Much to Jebred's relief, the guardsman posted at the Hold's southern entrance was Captain Sarbine. Although the Captain had a reputation among the holdbrats as a man not to be trifled with, he had an unusually high tolerance for Jebred's antics. It would be several turns before Jebred would be old enough to understand the scandal implied by their strikingly similar features, and thus he merely assumed chance favoritism. Hands on his knees, Jebred panted heavily, and tried to explain to the bewildered captain what he had witnessed on Blackstone Beach, "--dragons! A whole Wing of—dragons!"

Sarbine leaned leisurely against the sun-warmed stone of his post, "You have to breathe boy."

Jabred, in his current state, was at a loss for how to impress upon the captain that there was no time to catch his breath, "Dragons! Blackstone peninsula—more than I've ever seen before."

A shadow of concern passed over the Captain's face. Although his sources for Hold gossip were much more tuned into truth, he too could not recall anything about visiting dragonmen: much less a large group of visiting dragonmen. Although Jabred was showing every indication of growing up into a man his father could be proud of, he was constantly at odds with his peers. Earlier that morning he and the Fisherman's son had woken up half of the Hold brawling. Sarbine thought that he could sense an edge of epic desperation to Jabred's garbled words. In all reality, all Jabred had probably seen as a rookie dragonman practising difficult manoeuvres away from the prying eyes of his peers.

Jabred, sensing the Captain's scepticism, was beginning to get frantic, "I saw an entire Wing. In formation! They were like marching men; only in the air!"

Sarbine sighed. Although he wasn't an exceptionally hidebound man. Never in the scope of his histories canon had the Weyr deployed it's dragons against the people that it was sworn to protect. Granted, it wasn't like modern history had chosen to fall in conventional patterns. It had been several generations since this Interval was supposed to end, and as far as anybody could tell, Thread was showing no indications of falling. An attack against the Hold wasn't entirely inconceivable.. The Weyr had put up it's standard series of grumbles at the latest tithe, but there had been no outward signs of unusual aggression.

Wearily, Sarbine concluded that it would probably be best to consult with the watchrider on the matter. The idea of reporting Jabred's story to any of his superiors made him cringe, and it seemed logical that Q'oka was the most likely of anybody to know what was going on. It was a pity that Lady was broody. Numerous attempts to train the little queen to care for her clutches under the supervision of human eyes had been met with failure. Although unpredictable in her own right, she was a more reliable messenger than a holdbrat, and wouldn't spill secrets for a piece of candy. He considered sending Jabred to Q'oka, but decided against it. Sarbine possessed a begrudging respect for the ancient greenrider, and it seemed prudent to ask him directly about such an important matter. Beside, the platform the old codger usually rested on was empty, so technically he could be anywhere. It was a perfect opportunity to get away from the heat for a short period at least. He smiled down at Jabred and said, "Listen, I'm going to go talk to the Watchrider and see if he knows anything. I'm sure that there is an easy explanation for your dragons."

Sarbine winked playfully at and placed his cap on Jabred's head with mock bravado, "Now, you watch the south entrance while I go find the crawler. Don't let any dragonmen in while I'm away—orders of the honourable Lord LaLoch."

Jabred watched as the guard briskly walked away. He knew, instinctively, that Sarbine had left him with very little real responsibility, humouring a child and putting the hold he had sworn to protect at risk were two very different things. However, he couldn't help but swell with pride at Sarbine's trust, and stand at attention: his eyes fixed on the sleepy harbour below. Ista Hold was unique in the fact that although it was a major hold, with the standard assortment of associated craft-halls in it's vicinity, there were very few roads which lead directly to the hold and it's surrounding territories. Unless one wanted to much their way through tangles of tropical flora and vague suggestions of muddy paths, maritime routes were the easiest to navigate. Ista Harbor was not only the heart of the Hold, but the primary venue of transportation for the entire region.

In the noonday sun the harbour's population had ebbed to the day's low. It's extensive fishing fleet was trolling the depths of Mikel straight, and the merchant's boats had long since surrendered their goods to the marketplace. Jabred watched the stragglers, mostly modestly sized vessels belonging to the Hold's populace bob sedately in the sun-bleached bay. Every few minutes Jebred let his eyes scan for the horizon. The sinking feeling that perhaps he hadn't seen anything all all, merely a mirage catalyzed by the sun off the water, began to grow in him. The idea of losing credibility in Sarbine's eyes was far worse than the implications of what he'd thought he'd seen down at the beach. Anxiously he prodded the dry, hard-packed dirt with his bare toe.

Then, quite suddenly, the sky ripped open. Jabred's bowels quivered dangerously, but he couldn't look away; fascinated by the drama unfolding below him. One second, Ista Harbor slumbered lazily. One second, the sky above the harbour was suddenly thick with dragons. There was no warning, they just suddenly _where_, as if somebody willed them into existence. One second, the entire harbour was an inferno of thick black smoke and flame. From his vantage point, Jabred watched an uncomprehending mixture of awe and terror. The ability of dragonmen to travel instantaneously _between_ places was something that Jabred understood in the abstract, but as a general rule, to avoid startling a hold's herdbeasts, they never did so directly over holder territory. The idea that something so disproportionately huge could appear out of nothing shook the framework of Jebred's very mind.

The dragons, flashing a whirlwind of bronze, brown, blue and green finished their work in less than a breath's time. Their coordination as their spiraled through the sky was unrivaled by anything Jabred had ever seen. The huge beasts came within hands of each other, spewing flame as they flew, but they not once did they crash into each other; even in the tight confines of the bay. With military effectiveness they swooped and dove, systematically setting fire to every ship in the harbour baring the Istan flag. Within moments Jabred's vision was obscured by thick, foul smelling smoke. Then, as suddenly as they came, they left. The biggest bronze dragon flew high above the smoke, and made some sort of strange hand gesture. There was a momentary pause, and then they were gone: a trail of ruin left in their wake.

Jabred stood and watched dumbly as the ships continued to burn. The hold had sprung to life immediately, throwing their entire efforts on salvaging what could be salvaged and trying to work through the unspeakable. The dragons had _never_. They wouldn't _dare_. They _couldn't..._but the evidence was undeniable as it continued to burn. _The day the dragons came_. In the chaos nobody noticed the thin blond boy in the guards' cap. Even later, when his mother found him sitting on the watchrider's ledge, watching the smouldering wreckage of the harbour, she didn't notice the change that had overcome her son, "What are you doing up here Jabred?"

"Watching."

"Now don't be morbid child, everything is going to be fine. You're father's been looking for you all afternoon."

Jabred stretched languidly. He looked like a wild, holdless child, covered in grime and reeking of misadventure. He stared at his mother and asked suddenly, "Jabron isn't my father. Is he?"


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm updating a day early with a fairly short chapter. Thanks for taking the time to read and story is a little bit slow out of the gate, but I promise things will pick up fairly quickly.  
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_(GinnyStar: I tried responding to your PM, but you've disabled this feature)  
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**1220.03.14**

**Ista Hold**

The events of that day would later be incorporated into the morbid songs that the children sang. Young girls, playing their intricate jumping games, would chant, _"Ista, Monaco, Burning up! How many dragonmen come to sup: one, two, three...." _completely oblivious of the fact that their games mirrored the stern conversations held in the darkened halls of their fathers. The tithes continued to flow and the turns slowly passed. The stories grew along with the children, until they were all but unrecognizable.

The group had dissolved into a tangle of full bellies and sun-warmed limbs. Although Istan summers were all but perpetual, Jebred and his contemporaries could sense a change in the season. Glands were slowly stirring awake, rendering young bodies longer and leaner. The death of a season. Alanah half-heartedly kicked sand over the smoldering remnants of the fire before sighing contentedly, "You were right Billi. This _was_ a good idea."

Billiron nodded. His father was one of Ista's finest fishermen and had just begun to teach him the delicate art of stealing from the sea. He came home most nights reeking of fishgut and exhausted from rising before dawn. His free time was increasingly rare, and admiration from his peers was growing even more-so. Although he was practically beaming, he tried to downplay it, "Ya just gotta know how to cook 'um."

Jabred was sulky. Although Alanah wasn't an exceptionally pretty girl, Jabred had loved her for as long as he could remember. It was still the purposeless, innocent love of childhood, but that didn't stop him from wishing that Billiron's head would suddenly meet with a large rock. Billiron could have her sisters, stupid and pretty. Alanah was his, or at least, he wished Alanah was his. He dug his feet into the sand, and said bitterly "We just wrapped them in seagreens and tossed them over a fire. It's not exactly delicate craft work."

Billiron scoffed, "Hah! I'd like to see you spend a day on my Pa's boat. You'd be crying for your Ma like a little sissy by noon."

Jabred was silent. Suvanah, whom was sitting on his left, was slowly inching closer to him. Part of him wanted to hold her delicate wrists, but the other part of him wanted to run. He decided to pretend that she didn't exist. She purred, "Jabred is going to join Lord Broch's Guard. Aren't you Jabred?" She giggled, and placed her hand around his waist, "I watch you sometimes, when you and the Captain train together."

"Ooooooh—so you're going for the Guard eh? Big bad Captain Jabred. Tell me this, will you use your authority to service whatever girls you please, just like your buddy Sarbine?"

Alanah cast Billiron an antagonistic glare and hissed, "_Captain_ Sarbine...I wonder whatever happened to that firelizard of his."

Jabred answered quietly, "I think she just vanished one day, sort of like a half-feral feline. However, I'm not really interested in the Guard."

"Then what do you fardling want to do? 'Cause last time I checked you're currently headed for a lifetime of service to the Hold."

"Actually," he paused, knowing what he was about to say was little more than a childish fantasy that most boys grew out of, "I want to go to the Weyr. I want to be a dragonrider."

This was too much for Billiron, he exploded with snorting laughter, which quickly spread to the other children, "Come _on_ Jabred. That's ridiculously rich."

Suvanah answered for him, "Obviously he's not serious. Jabred's too smart to go live _there_," she let his voice lower to a scandalized whisper, "Haven't you ever heard what they _do _to each other."

Billiron proceeded to make a rather explicit gesture with his hands, "I'm sorry Suvanah, but it looks like the mighty Jabred is nothing but--"

"Will you just shut it Billi! I'm sure Jabred was just kidding. Weren't you?"

Alanah turned to Jabred, her dark eyes reflecting the sun's last light. He looked at her for a few moments before standing and shaking his head, "No. I'm not."

"...but _why_ would you ever?..."

He darkly said, "--because I don't like to be on the losing side. The age of the dragonmen isn't over."

"Sit down Jabred. You really are starting to scare me."

Had it been Suvanah, and not Alanah whom had said those words, Jabred would've most likely stormed out of the hidden cove without glancing back. However, Alanah had spoken, and although he did not sit down, his expression did soften, "I really am serious. Do you guys remember the fire?"

Billiron rolled his eyes, "No of course not. Remember, we're just sharding plebeians with minds like wherries."

"I never insulted your intelligence."

"Then what are you getting at?"

"The Lord Holder and his Guards may spend a lot of time talking about our militarily strength but in the end it doesn't really matter how many battalions of Guards he's accumulated. _The dragons_."

Jabred's friends continued to stare at him as if he had gone mad. Of course, as young children they had shared brief fantasies of dragonriding, but these had been nothing more than children's games. Besides, given the general atmosphere of contempt between Ista Hold and Weyr, it had been turns since a search had been held in the Hold. The declaration that Jabred wished to serve the Weyr, much less actually become a dragonrider, was shocking. Jabred on the other hand, was beginning to sincerely doubt his companions abilities of perception. Although he had a unique vantage point on the Weyr's act of arson, surely they must've at least seen some of the same things he had. The image of the bronzerider, leading the charge against the Hold was firmly etched into his brain. Even Captain Sarbine, well recognized for his combative prowess, wouldn't stand a chance against that man. Finally, Jabred shook his head, "You _are_ nothing but a flock of braindead wherries."

And with that, Jabred silently picked his way over the brambled paths that led back home. Alanah's eyes lingered for a long time on the shadows he had disappeared into.

She was a handful of turns older than her sisters, and as such she had spent an increasing amount of time contemplating her future. For as far back as any of the women in her family could remember, her bloodline had called Ista Hold home. Like all of her aunties, cousins, and sisters, she had been born and raised within the hold's walls. She'd be married within sight of the harbor, bare her children within sight of the harbor and die within sight of the harbor. For the first time in her life, the idea struck her with a strange and sudden sense of revulsion.

Her mother had warned her that she was becoming a young woman, and that more than ever before it was important for her to be mindful of the company she kept. Marriage, although an ever-popular topic among girls her age, was a concept without concrete meaning. Aside from Lord Broch's daughters, whom were groomed to snub those of common birth, the girl of the hold still freely mixed with the boys. The friendships molded in childhood play would very likely influence their later choice of keepers. Alanah became suddenly very aware of the weight of Billiron's arm.

She stood up, and brushed the dark sand off of her shirts, "I think that...I think that I perhaps should also be going home. I promised that I'd help Auntie Lydia milk the woolies tomorrow morning."

Billiron didn't protest, and none of her sisters moved to follow her, so she bid everybody farewell once again and set off on the foot-worn trail back to the Hold. Her mind lingered far longer than it ought to have on the way that Jabred's nose curved to meet his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is this week's update. As always thanks for reading. Sorry for the delay in responding to your messages, it's exam time for me, so I haven't had much time online. I promise I'll get back to you ASAP  
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**1224.02.15**

**Ista Hold**

The Hold had been transformed into a hive of nervous activities. The mundane chores of daily life had long since been either completed or cast aside for more pressing concerns. Nobody really knew exactly what was going on, as the Lord Holder had yet to make an official statement concerning the matter, but the Hold's populace had managed to piece together a general idea of the situation.

Although several turns had passed without further incident, the relationships between Ista Hold and Ista Weyr had not repaired themselves. The Hold begrudgingly continued to tithe, but did so only out of fear of another attack. The Watchdragon posts, rock parapets worn smooth by turns of reclining dragons, stood empty. Ista Hold had outgrown it's Weyr. The consensus among the holders was simple: the whole purpose of the dragon Weyrs were to protect the Holds. Ista had grown so prosperous that there really wasn't any power whom could threaten it—aside from the Weyr.

The intention of the Weyr had never been bloodshed. They had chosen to attack the Harbor at such a time to eliminate unnecessary human casualties. War with their major Hold was never a desired outcome: thus once the tithes had been restored to their proper levels the Weyr had avoided all unnecessary interactions with Ista Hold. It had been nearly eight turns since a dragon had landed within the territories of Ista Hold.

However, somehow, this had all changed. Like many aspects of Weyrlife, Weyr politics were poorly understood: even by the Lord Holder. All they knew what that for some reason, the leadership within the Weyr had shifted. Searches would resume within Ista Hold.

Some of the more foolish women in the Hold had made ridiculous efforts to hide their children before the dragonmen came. Jabred was deeply amused by the surge of couples announcing their engagements. He might've thought the entire situation highly amusing if Suvanah wasn't spending the majority of her free time giving him significant looks. He had since been inducted as a Junior member of the Guard. Although his rank was no higher than an apprentice in any other craft, many of the Hold's girls had newfound interest in him. The novelty of the situation had worn off several sevendays ago, and he was beginning to get tired of their constant fawning.

Like all individuals considered eligible for the search, Jabred had been excused from his duties, and took the opportunity to catch up with his old friends. It depressed him how rarely their paths intersected anymore, and he was glad to mill about the Hold proper with them. He was pleased to notice that Alanah had not been among the group of young women whom had opted for betrothal over the possibility of being taken to the Weyr. She laughed nervously, "Who'd have thought. You were right Jabred."

Suvanah cast him another baleful glance. He sighed and smiled ruefully, "So you're going to risk it?"

She shrugged, "What's there to risk?"

Although Alanah tried to remain indifferent, there was an obvious note of contempt in her voice. Although she shared her sisters chestnut colored hair and dark eyes, the resemblance stopped there. Her mother had always told her that she was simply a late bloomer: that no woman in her family had ever failed to seduce a successful husband. Alanah however, was a practical girl. Puberty had already carved the form of the woman she would grow into. Thickset and hairy. The best she could hope for was Billiron. She never knew why he clung to her the way he did, and he was at least an honest and hardworking boy. She smiled, and shook her head once again, "No. The way I see it, there really isn't a risk."

Jabred peeled Suvanah off of his arm and added, "Please, it's too warm for that sort of thing. You're awfully quiet today Billi."

Billiron shrugged. His mind was elsewhere. It was different, thinking about the possibilities of the search, with the situation so close at hand. Part of him that had gone to die several turns previous was stirring awake. His hands were already worn shiny from casting the nets into the sea with his father, and he couldn't help but feel as if he had already seen everything that there was to see in the world. It was strange, seeing everybody grown and scared together. Something disturbed him about the way that Alanah and Jabred shared side wise glances and conversation heavily laced with hints he could detect, but not interpret.

He intended fully well to marry her when the time came. None of the other boys had ever expressed any interest in her, not really. She wasn't like her sisters. There had been talk that one of the Lord Holder's sons had expressed interest in courting young Lillianah. She was his, or at least had resigned to him. Jabred could easily have his pick of any of the girls at the Hold, but not Alanah. Alanah was his. Billiron found himself moving closer to her, "You don't do much talking on the ocean."

Jabred yawned broadly, "Eh, not that it matters too much. They'll be here soon, it's almost midday."

He looked to the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and tried to judge the time from the angle of the sun. Although his expression was more of mildly interested boredom, he was quite anxious for the events which were supposed to unroll that day. It all seemed too good to possibly be true, and the possibility of failure was uncomfortably high. Jabred was a clever boy, whom could usually find a way to manipulate almost any situation in his favor. However he was all too aware that all of the charm in his body wouldn't influence the searchrider's choices. He shook the probability of failure out of his head and focused on making small talk with the growing circle of friends gathering around him. He didn't recognize the strange thickness in his throat as nostalgia, and shook it away without a thought.

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The only sound was the uncomfortable scrabble of sharp claws against cobblestone. Despite all of the complaints of the previous days, it appeared as if the entire populace of the Hold had gathered in the Proper to see the trio of search dragons. Although the atmosphere was one of mistrust and hostility, a certain level of curiosity could be felt within the crowd. Needless to say, Q'oka, the watchrider, had been dismissed from his post following the attack on the harbor, so it had been a long time since any of them had seen a dragon this close.

Q'oka, as watchriders traditionally were, was an ancient man whom was bonded with an equally aged dragon. Although holderbrats were not given many occasions to get a close look at the watchpair, Jabred distinctly remembered the green's stiff, arthritic movements and clouded eyes. Jabred had never seen what a dragon looked like in its prime. Jabred was in awe. He didn't notice, as the young men disengaged themselves from their odd harnesses and dismounted, that the dragonriders were scarcely older than he was. Although the pretense of the search was to help open communication between Ista Hold and Weyr, the Weyr was not stupid. They sent expendable riders. The apparent leader of the group, bonded to one of the two blue dragons, was the first to speak. Despite his age and inexperience his speech was eloquent and brief.

The search would begin. Under the languid, half-closed eyes of the search dragons, the crowd roughly segregated those eligible for candidacy from the masses. The separation somehow made the situation real, Jabred felt like a marked men, but was determined to set an example for his peers. Although his fists were balled in tight little paradigms of terror, he stood like he was at attention. It was hard to say, without the experience of reading draconic body language, where exactly the search dragons were looking, but for a fleeting moment Jabred would've sworn that he felt an alien weight bore into his brain.

Then it was gone.

The dragons had turned their attention back to their riders, and appeared to be engage in some sort of silent dialogue. All assembled ears strained to catch what was being said, but the conversation was spoken in the inaudible mind-language of the dragonmen. Every so often a searchrider would turn and glance over the potential candidates, their facial expressions almost bored.

Then it was over.

The second that words, "You, the blond one," escaped from the bluerider's mouth, everything that Jabred's world was composed of started to fade away from him. Old paths that only he, and generations of Holderbrats had known about, vanished like mist in the daylight, replaced with new fantasies. The image of the Wingleader, atop a bronze, ordering his men into battle. His loyalties were turned.

He pulled himself away from Suvanah's frantically clasping hands, casting her perhaps for the first time in his life a surly glower which demonstrated his true feelings for her fawning, before stepping away from the group and meeting the eyes of the bluerider. The trepidation that had defined his being previously had been shaken by mere suggestion, "Yessir."

The dragonman slowly ran his eyes over Jabred, appraising him in a much simpler method than his companion had. Although Jabred shared the medium tan complexion and muddy brown eyes of most Istans, his light hair implied a more complex heritage. Slender, but not frail. Not bad for a Holderboy. Not bad at all. Jabred met the dragonman's stare evenly with the proud stance of a potential Guardsman (and a potential dragonman?). Very impressive indeed. The dragonman asked leisurely, "What's you're name boy?"

"Jabred."

There was a pause, as both the dragonrider and the Holderfolk waited for Jabred to give the traditional, but brief explanation of his bloodline. There was no word of the occupation, or names of his forefathers, and no indication that any was to be given. Sarbine wasn't the only one whom paused to wonder if perhaps this action was not a mere demonstration of Jabred's lack of formal education. Jabred of course rarely did anything without pausing to consider the potential influences it would have on his future. The dragonman understood his implications; Jabred had no formal ties to the Hold Proper. No legitimate reason to refuse Search. Still, formalities needed to be made, "The Searchparty believes that you have several traits valued in our Candidates, and extends the offer to Stand."

No words. Just a simple nod. Somewhere in the crowd a woman began to sob. It wasn't his mother. She was merely watching her bastard son with a carefully guarded expression. It was more complicated than simple relief, it was the knowledge that a girlish mistake didn't do any lasting damage to anybody. She knew that her son was not going to come back, at least not in the same incarnation as was staring down the dragonrider before her. No damage done.


	4. Chapter 4

**1224.04.26**

**Ista Weyr**

Poor G'tin was struggling to keep up with protocol. Despite stereotypes his brown was far from the most reliable dragon in the Weyr. As luck would have it, the Senior Queen's clutch would hatch during their watch. For reasons long pondered, but never fully understood, the clutches of dragons had a tendency to choose the worst possible moment to break free of their shells. This tendency was multiplied by a tenfold whenever there was a golden egg on the sands.

It seemed that the dignitaries of the day were coordinating their arrival to the moments he sat down. From the moment that S'itar's bronze had twined necks with Rahobath the Weyrleader had promised his people changes. Changes he swore would improve their lives and give Ista a place in tapestries and harper ballads once again. He believed the first step in this process was healing the relationships between the Weyr and its Holds. For G'tin this was all well and good. The brownrider was not a man whom was interested in political games, for those were things best left to the bronzes and their men, but when G'tin had first listened to S'itar's speeches of hope and glory, he had not anticipated that the changes would involve so much _work_ on his part.

Wearily, he stroked Ioth's sun-warmed hide, "I would've liked to see some of the hatching myself..."

_'It hasn't started yet. Not really. At least I don't think so. Oh look. Here comes Polith!'_

Polith was several turns older than his own brown and possessed a much more paternal temperament. G'tin couldn't help but notice that Ioth resembled a very large canine, wriggling in excitement at the sight of an old friend. G'tin half-heartedly saluted his wingmate, and then noticed a very important detail that he had overlooked. Polith was decked in a bizarre assortment of regalia, banners and flags bearing the insignia of Ista Hold were fastened to his riding harness. G'tin called out, "Welcome to Ista Weyr esteemed Lord--" the brownrider frantically searched his mind for the name of the dignitary to whom the banners belonged to. Unfortunately, names were not one of G'tin's strong points, "--Lord. Lord."

_'Polith's rider says his name is Broch. And that the Wingleader is going to tan your hide for this.'_

"Honorable Lord Broch. Ista welcomes you to the hatching of Senior Queen Rahobath's second clutch. Have a pleasant visit."

Polith, directed by his rider (whom was busy trying to smooth G'tin's lackluster greeting), folded his wings and, determined to show the Lord Holder what a proper dragon acted like, landed daintily in the Weyrbowl. G'tins sighed, and mumbled to himself, "I really would've liked to watch the hatching myself."

_'Next time I think that I want to catch the queen.'_

"Browns can't fly queens wherryhead."

_'But I think that I could. Polith said that he was glad he didn't have to carry the Hold's queen: she looked like she was the size of a herdbeast. Did the Lord-man have to fly her? I don't think she'd be very hard to catch.'_

G'tin contemplated trying to explain the Hold's hierarchy to his dragon. Ioth however, was not the brightest creature ever to hatch from an Istan Queen. He was merely thankful that any bloodlines whom were capable of hearing the speech of any dragons had died out long ago.

_

* * *

  
_

The Esteemed Lord Broch was far too caught up in his own anxiety to notice G'tin and Ioth's graceless greeting. Even the protection of Captain Sarbine seemed insignificant when compared to the sheer _scale_ of the Weyr's architecture. Lord Broch had always taken pride in his impressive physique, but even he was dwarfed by the rooms built to accommodate large numbers of creatures as massive as the dragons.. Uneasily, he joked with the Weyrleader, "They forget to tell you that a dragonlength is only the size of your smallest sisters."

Stiffly, Sarbine said, "Perhaps the problem lies more in the memories of Holders."

S'itar jumped on the silence which followed Sarbine's dark declaration, "I believe the problem goes both ways. The past leadership of the Weyr has been... less than hospitable towards your territories."

Lord Broch considered his circumstances before reacting, he was surrounded not only by a handful of the braver Lord and Lady Holders, but by S'itar's generals and (perhaps more importantly) their dragons. He said, carefully, "I cannot say my people have been appreciative of the Weyr's, being held hostage in your own land is not a pleasant experience. However, I do think it is important to put the actions of our fathers behind us: my men and I are honored to attend this-- ceremony."

His words seemed to please S'itar, although being a politician himself, the Weyrleader was perfectly capable of dissecting the other man's words to their core implications. Disagreement with the Hold simply meant that the tithes would need to be extracted under the premise of threats. If these threats could be directed at another force of power, a mutual enemy, the relationship between the Hold and the Weyr would improve. S'itar had learned the key to any conflict was choosing the correct enemy. He carefully eyed the group of men assembled around him and said quietly, "Perhaps it is the time to reconsider pacts made in ages past. However, if you excuse me for being divergent, let us not soil the festivities of the day with political scheming."

Lord Broch laughed genteelly, "Of course not Weyrleader, we have more pressing matters to deal with. Such as the consumption of this glass of Vintage Karoon Red."

Sarbine raised his glass to put on a show of camaraderie with his Lord. It was the Lord's job to make small talk with the other dignitaries, and while Sarbine was expected to play along, his purpose was to observe. He sipped his wine, the heat of the hatching was sands made the musky odor of dragons nearly overwhelming, and watched, carefully storing away ever nuance of the conversation to report back to Lord Broch with.

Like many in the cavern, Sarbine's attentions kept returning to one particularly massive egg, glittering coyly from the shadow of its dam. The arithmetic was terrifying. Since Broch had taken up the mantle of Lord Holder, the Weyr's population had nearly doubled. According to S'itar, this was Rahobath's second clutch, her second clutch in five years. Yet despite the fact that the queen had, in all likelihood another twenty fertile years, there, glinting mockingly at him in the dim light of the hatching cavern, was the egg that contained her first golden daughter. It had been generations since there were two queens of clutching age inside the Weyr at the same time. The implications were dark.

Sarbine turned to one of S'itar's Wingleaders, and said "Your Weyrleader's bronze is an impressive sire."

The man nodded, and seemed pleased with the fact that a Holder could recognize this fact, "Four more than last time. It's a pity that your father didn't attend the hatching of Rahobath's first clutch. Seecath was glowing like a proddy green."

"Gone then are the days where a good clutch contained a scanty dozen then," Sarbine turned his attention to the gently rocking eggs, and muttered, "We're going to see Thread fall within our lifetimes."

This statement caused the Wingleader to laugh so hard that he nearly spilled his glass of wine, he clapped his hand on Sarbine's shoulder, he called over to Lord Broch, "You should keep this one! He's got half a brain in him."

Broch, whom probably wouldn't have reacted to Sarbine's observation with the same sort of glee as the Wingrider if he had heard it properly, nodded in agreement, "Don't worry, I'll be keeping him around. A pity for the Weyr that he's beyond searching age."

Although this garnered a chuckle from the group, Sarbine understood the comment was directed towards him. When the news came to Lord Broch that Jabred had been selected for the search, the Lord was absolutely livid. If it wasn't for petty social politics, Jabred would've been his. The boy was, especially on the cusp of manhood, so obviously Sarbine's son that it was almost pathetic to watch Jabron and Ileda swear fidelity to one another. Any sons of Sarbine would have been exempt from search. A fallacy in the records, which was made for the sake of saving a peasant couple face, cost him one of the most promising recruits his Guard had ever seen.

All attention in the cavern fell upon the rows of candidates shuffling into the hatching sands from a stone archway on the far side of the cavern. There was nearly one-hundred of them, each clad in a stiff white robe. Depending on which awkward stage of puberty the child was in, they reached anywhere from the candidate's ankles to their knees. Rahobath presided over the proceedings, eyeing each candidate with a suspiciously swirling glower. The candidates, whom had split themselves up in two lines according to gender, tried to give her as wide breadth as possible without breaking formation. Sarbine inhaled sharply as he thought _my only son is standing today..._

Although it had been cropped brutally short at some point during his candidacy, Jabred's pale hair was quite distinctive and permitted Lord Broch to easily point him out to the Weyrleader, "He's one of my boys-- the other was a girl, a rather plain thing..."

S'itar smiled and turned to Sarbine, "My friend! You should of let us known that your son was standing today, we wouldn't have watered down your wine. He certainly looks like a boy any father would be proud of."

Sheepishly Sarbine said, "While I've had the pleasure of training Jabred, I unfortunately can only claim responsibility in the boy's training, not his conception."

The Weyrleader's eyes shifted from Sarbine to the blond candidate, and then briefly back to the Lord Holder. Judging from the subtle shifts in the other men's facial expressions, he had breached a sensitive topic, he tried to smooth it over, "My deepest pardons. My mistake in making assumptions, it's just that your hair color is quite unusual."

Sarbine nodded, "No offense was taken Weyrleader. It's something that comes with the territory of being the only blond in the Hold."

"Excellent, I'm glad our hatchling friendship isn't going to be tarnished by a simple misunderstanding. So Jabred is the boy's name?"

Sarbine nodded, "Yes, it is. I believe that the girl's over there, her name is...Alanah?"

He pointed, and S'itar looked over both the candidates, "Well, she certainly wasn't searched for her pretty face--not that that matters any in the end..."

His voice trailed out, and Sarbine turned his attention to the eggs scattered thoughtlessly around the hatching sands. Although several of them had developed spidery cracks, including the queen's egg, none of the hatchlings had spilled onto the sands. From the outside of their calcium confines, it was difficult to judge the epic struggle occurring within the eggs as the newborns fought to be born. The epic internal drama of thrashing of limbs and snapping jaws translated as nothing more than gentle rocking. Lord Broch called out for more wine, a task made difficult by the fact that all of the dragons in the Weyr began to hum.

The haunting cries of their creator and her court were barely within the range of hearing for the humans assembled, but the vibrations of the dragon's voices could be felt deep within everybody's bones. The Lord sat and watched with utter fixation as the haunting dragoncries swept over him. Even the Weyrfolk, most of whom had seen a similar birth-drama unfold at least once before, fell silent. The only sounds, other than the dragon's hum, was the distinctive crackling of eggshells.

Then, quite suddenly, a clawed foot emerged from one of the eggs. For as long as he had been a concrete entity, the little beast within that particular egg had made a game of testing the barriers of his shell. The hunger within him, which had been growing steady over the past sevenday, was nearly unbearable. The hatchling shook himself with surprising violence, trying to wrench himself free from membrane and shell. For a moment he rested, and in that brief moment he considered slipping away into the dark and the cold, but something called out to him. '_Now is the time to see the world little one.' _Driven forward by the disembodied voice of his mother, the hatching trashed once more against the confines of his shell. This time however, the barriers didn't hold, and in the span of a few seconds he emerged into the sands of the cavern, tangled and wet. Although he was dark for his color, and his thrashing had coated him with grit and fine shards of eggshell, the sparkle off of his hide was revealing.

S'itar said, for the edification of the Lord Holders, "Firstborn bronze, it's considered a good luck omen... though, he looks angry. This could turn nasty very quickly..."

His voice was barely above a whisper, and at first, the Weyrleader's observation was lost on the Lords. To the Lord Broch, the newborn creature bore more resemblance to a wet clump of pond-muck than his stately sire. It was only when the little bronze cried out, a squeaky impersonation of the deep bellow bronzes make as they blood their kills, that the gravity of the situation was readily apparent. Although each staggering step took utmost concentration from the baby bronze, he gained momentum quickly, and soon was charging as fast as his newly minted body was capable towards the row of robed boys.

As the candidates scattered, his nails caught the hem of a boy whom was either too stupid or slow to get out of the way of the rampaging bronze, was dragged to the ground. The boy froze as he locked eyes with the bronze. The audience found themselves holding their breath as the hatchling stared the boy down with violently whirling crimson eyes. The hunger was paramount in his mind, it wasn't necessarily the desire for food, but something else. He could feel the minds of his mother and family urging him on... however, as the stared down the boy, it became increasingly clear to the hatchling that _this_ was not what he wanted. A surprisingly low growl escaped from his throat as the hunger was temporary filled with rage.

The Weyrleader muttered, to nobody in particularly, "And they say touchings are a bad thing... that damn fool needs to get out of the way. If he was going to impress it would've happened already..."

Unfortunately for the boy, the desperate hope that the hatchling would be_ his_, caused him to linger a moment too long. The bronze advanced on the boy, snapping his jaws indiscriminately. The spreading bloodstains on the boy's white robes made it perfectly clear that he was in very real danger. Lord Broch, uncomfortable with the idea of utilizing human children in bloodsport, asked, "Aren't you going to send somebody in to help...?"

S'itar shook his head, "It's too dangerous. Until they're impressed, queens are _very_ protective of their clutches. Imagine, oh dear..."

Jabred had moved forward from the cluster of boys (in light of their classmate's screams, all notion of protocol had largely been forgotten) and was moving with grim determination towards his fallen classmate and the rampaging bronze. Jabred remembered the Candidate Master's words, warning against intervention in a case such as this. Something about the simpering old man's lessons didn't quite stick with Jabred: the weak explanations to his questions led him to the conclusion that he had been lied to. He stole a glance at Rahobath, whom was presiding over the hatching with aloof indifference, seemed unperturbed by Jabred's advances.

The bronze hatchling was approximately the size of the mastiffs some of the poorer Holds used to guard themselves with. Remembering the days Sarbine spent teaching the recruits to deal with these creatures, and compensating for the hatchling's lower center of gravity, Jabred lowered his shoulder and charged, hoping to knock the creature off of Vinvian. His collision with the hatchling was like running into a brick wall, undeterred by this failure, Jabred grabbed the dragonet's head, and twisted hard upwards, trying to pull the creature from Vinvian.

He took a step backwards as he felt the bronze's claws grate against his leg, although Vinvian was bad off-- a slashed femoral artery on Jabred's side would most like guarantee that the both of them would bleed out on the hatching grounds. He had no time to contemplate his injuries, the bronze, temporarily distracted from Vinvian, lunged at Jabred. Reflexively, he swung his fist at the creature's nose. The bronze jerked backwards, recoiling from pain and confusion.

Jabred mirrored him, startled by the blossoming sting spreading across his face, and the bizarre, all-consuming hunger which had suddenly seized his mind. A voice, which wasn't entirely his, tore words from his throat, "You'd better move Vinvian or I'll punch you too! Telkemeth is hungry and you're bleeding in the middle of the fardling path!"

_'Oh'_

It was only then that both dragon and boy fully understood what had just happened. A brief shudder, completely unrelated to any of their injuries moved through their bodies, as their minds became fully entwined. Talkemeth was _his_. The hunger inside of the little beast once again welled to the front of his mind. Carefully, Jabred extended his hand, and let his fingers graze _his_ dragon's hide, he said softly, "C'mon. This wasy."

As he carefully led his Talkemeth towards the tables laden with chunks of meat prepared on the sidelines of the hatching sands, he turned to his classmates, whom where watching as Vinvian struggled to drag himself off of the hatching grounds, "Stop ogling like a bunch of Aunties. Help him out and get back in line!"

S'itar leaned backwards from his seat of honor, and crossed his arms, "Q'lin will have his hands full with that one. He'll either make a fine Wingleader or bring the Weyr crashing down around him..."

Lord Broch nodded, unhappy with the knowledge that S'itar had effortlessly gained a boy he'd put in his own military. He was also fairly certain that the practice of wrestling with the hatchlings before impressing upon them was unorthodox, and thus unsure of how it would reflect upon Ista Hold. He asked the Weyrleader, tentatively, "What do you mean by that Weyrleader?"

S'itar watched carefully as Q'lin, the grizzled Weyrling Master, instructed Jabred how to properly feed his partner. Judging from the man's stern expression, he was also adding in a few lines about the importance of following protocol. Sarbine spoke up. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take the blame on that one. Protecting your comrades is a lesson I stressed perhaps too well..."

S'itar waved his hand, somewhat dismissively, "Oh don't be mistaken, I'm not saying that the boy didn't act in an honorable way. The dragon would of gutted him if he thought otherwise. It's just that the men chosen by the bronzes today, they're the ones whom will chose the future of the Weyr. It's obvious that your boy is a revolutionist. Now Sarbine, you've barely touched your wine, would you care for something a little bit lighter--perhaps some juice?"

* * *

It was late in the evening when Lord Broch and Sarbine returned to Ista Hold. The Hatching and it's subsequent feast had taken up the better part of the day, and extended far into the night. The men remained conversationally silent until it was clear that the dragonmen charged with ferrying them home had vanished /_between/_ . Lord Broch only spoke when it was obvious that they were completely alone, "S'itar is a friendly man, and I don't trust friendly men. If you can hide your dislike for somebody you can hide anything."

Sarbine was deep in thought, "Jabred acted stupidly today."

"Well, as disciplined as he is, he's still a boy, they act stupidly more often than we'd like them to. I can only imagine what Maroch would've done in his position. It's a pity though, that the gold went to that girl from Karoon. I've been thinking about it though, and perhaps it's not such a bad thing that Jabred impressed: we have a hand in the Weyr now."

Sarbine shook his head, "He's not Jabred anymore. Being around the dragons changes people. It degrades their morals and well, we can't really count on _anything _from Jabred, aside of course the fact that he will put his dragon's wellbeing first, and his dragon will put the wellbeing of it's queen first."

"I suppose, but I really don't think a _dragon_ is capable of wrenching a man from his hometown."

"Why then my Lord, did the girl choose to stay?"

Lord Broch fell silent.


	5. Chapter 5

_Yeah, a bit of a delay with this one... I've been embroiled in some pretty big life changes the past few months, but fortunately pretty much everything has been worked out. I hope to get back into updating this on a regular basis. I hope the transition from the previous chapter to this one isn't too noticeable. Happy reading: you get introduced to one of my favourite characters in this chapter. _

* * *

**1225.08.19**

**Ista Hold**

There are certain things that can't be shaken from memory. For those born in maritime regions it's the pull of the salt-air and the texture of the their childhood beaches which haunts them. The contours of his mother's face were slowly blurring in J'red's mind, but the peculiar way the currents curved around Blackstone Beach remained stark. He had seen Blackstone through all of the seasons and under all perceivable weather conditions, but he had never seen Blackstone from this particular angle. Although the bronze had never ventured this far from the Weyr, Talkemeth knew from his rider's nostalgia that they had reached their destination.

He descended carefully, and landed with a delicacy rarely seen in dragons his age. Salkith followed, but if the way Lotty nursed her back was any indication, the young queen had yet to master some of the nuances involved with carrying passengers. Talkemeth stood admirably still, despite the excitement in being somewhere new, while J'red helped Alanah off his back. J'red had suggested that Lotty accompany them back to his hometown more for Talkemeth's sake than any personal desire to spend time with the junior Weyrwoman. Although the two of them were talking again, it was unlikely that the friendship Alanah and Lotty once held would ever be completely mended.

Not bothering to hide her disappointment, Lotty said, "I'm surprised the healers thought this was a good idea. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen."

Alanah, whom was better at hiding her animosity towards the queenrider (but not above smugly lacing her hand in J'red's) shrugged, "It's _/between/_ that's dangerous, besides, I'm nearly past the most risky part."

J'red weaseled his hand out of Alanah's. Talkemeth was an incredibly serious dragon whom had little patience for the antics of his clutchmates. While J'red wasn't entirely displeased of his dragon's friendship with Salkith, he was beginning to wish that the young queen had chosen somebody less petty than Lotty as a rider. He turned his back to both of the women, "As useful as the ability to travel _/between/_ will be, it's no substitute for strength in flight: especially for bronzes and golds. Might I remind you that the purpose of this trip is twofold: to bring Alanah to visit her sister and to train Talkemeth and Salkith's endurance. I did not invite either of you here to squabble like holdwomen."

Lotty moved to protest (they were just _talking_ not _squabbling_) but held her tongue. In her opinion J'red's directness was one of his most admirable features. She smoothed her skirt down, and busied herself stroking Salkith. Alanah might of held J'red's seed in her belly, but she had something that Alanah would never have: her Salkith. J'red might be playing the role of the concerned father, holding her arm as they walked, including her in his scarce free time, but Lotty knew that in the end, his dreams were twined in bronze and gold. She would win him.

Salkith, whom was no stranger to her rider's constant plotting, mused upon this, _'My love, let us not forget that I am the prize to be won. Not Talkemeth.'_

Lotty "I Thought that you liked Talkemeth."

Salkith eyed over the young bronze, critically, _'I like him, but he _looks _like a yearling. Seecath isn't all knobbly and leggy. I like Seecath.'_

Lotty smiled the private smile of dragonriders conversing with their partners, before turning to J'red, "You're Talkemeth has his work cut out for him. Salkith here seems to think that he should have the physique of the adult bronzes at this stage in his growth. None of these messy adolescent angles."

J'red merely eyed his dragon, it was hard to monitor the progress of one's dragon objectively. Although he was given natural rank in the hierarchy of dragons due solely to the color of his hide, Ista Weyr was at no shortage for bronzes. In addition to adding another gold, Salkith, to the Weyr's population, Rahobath's last clutch had added six new bronzes. For the past few generations of queens, it was rare for a clutch to contain more than one or two bronzes. Thus those boys lucky enough to impress would almost always be guaranteed the rank of Wingleader within a few years of their graduation. J'red knew that it would be naive to make the same assumption for himself and Talkemeth.

Had Salkith been any but his _golden_ sister, Talkemeth would have had some sort of snappy retort. Salkith, through the virtue of her hide, was spared anything more than a meek suggestion that, _'It would be nice to sit here in the sun together.'_

J'red reached up and scratched his bronze's nose, something he was no longer able to do without the cooperation of his dragon, "I'm sorry we have to leave you two behind, but the Hold doesn't like any dragons in the Hold Proper. We'll be back soon."

It was extremely strange for J'red and Alanah to follow the paths of their childhood back to the Hold Proper from Blackstone Beach. A new generation of Holderbrats had kept well-worn dirt path from being absorbed by the surrounding brush. Occasional evidence of their games could be seen, although at this time of the year even the youngest would be largely occupied with tending the Hold's crops. J'red was startled by his own transience. It was as if he had never left. It was as if he and Talkemeth, Talkemeth whom would surely live on forever, could vanish _/between/ _ and it wouldn't matter, at least not to this particular patch of reality. In the end he supposed it really didn't.

J'red was startled out of his nihilism by Alanah, whom asked, "Didn't Suvanah say that she would meet us halfway?"

J'red shrugged, "She's your sister... she probably just got distracted with something."

"Last time I wrote, she seemed really excited that we were coming. It doesn't seem like something that she would forget about. Don't give me _that _look. I know how she is, but she couldn't have forgotten. It's been well over a year since I've seen her last."

Lotty noticed the way that Alanah's hands (when they weren't all over _her_ future Weyrleader) rested on the budding swell of her stomach. There was little doubt in the young queenrider's mind that Alanah would be one of those sickeningly clucky women. Fawning over her parasitic protrusion as if it was something special. Lotty knew that she had been made a stupidly emotional mistake when she accepted J'red's invitation to visit his birthplace, knowing full well that the primary purpose of the visit was to bring Alanah to visit her family (and flaunt the accomplishment of getting knocked up by a bronzer). However the concept of permitting J'red to make this trip alone with Alanah was impermissible.

Ifgred, one of the younger guardsmen, was posted at the North gate. Although he had received word that Jabred (now J'red) was due to visit the Hold, he didn't immediately recognize the boy. J'red saluted Ifgred, whom after a moment of hesitation returned the gesture. In his opinion, anybody connected at the head to a giant carnivore deserved respect. Unfortunately, the possibility that either of the women accompanying J'red could be dragonriders completely escaped him. Lotty, whom was by default the second most powerful woman in the Weyr, went unhonored. Knowing Lotty's temper, J'red tried to rectify this, "Please let me introduce you a newer friend of mine. This is Lotty of queen Salkith."

Catching the subtle emphasis J'red put on her dragon's color, Ifgred quickly turned to Lotty in salute. Lotty smiled, "No need for those pleasantries Guardsman, this trip has been taken purely for purposes of pleasure."

The sweetness in her tone barely hid the venom behind her words. One didn't need a dragonrider's empathy to tell that it was Alanah's turn to feel slighted. Trying to advert a future argument, J'red clapped his hand on Alanah's thick shoulders, "And I'm sure that you already know Alanah here."

Ifgred paused for a moment in thought. During which J'red muttered with telepathic annoyance to Talkemeth, _'Faranth above. You have it lucky. Dragonwomen are never this difficult.'_

Talkemeth responded sulkily, _'I'll have to introduce you to my friend Salkith sometime.' _

Communicating with his dragon over such a distance required much more concentration than he remembered. He was pulled out of his internal dialogue by Ifgred's concerned expression, "You're Suvanah's older sister, aren't you...?"

Alanah stiffened, "Yes, I am. Why?"

"I think there was some sort of accident, on one of the fishing boats... she should be in the Healer's Hall."

Although Alanah was not one prone to panic, the fear in her body language was easy to read. She shook J'red's grip on her wrists loose and pushed her way through the North Gate, and bolted towards the Hold's rudimentary Healer Hall. J'red called after her, "Alanah! Wait!"

Unsurprisingly, she yelled back, "My _sister!_"

Lotty shook her head, and touched J'red's arm with surprisingly maternal gentleness, "Come on, we need to follow... I have a little sister too you know."

And so the two of them ran after Alanah. Although they were in prime physical condition, thanks to Q'lin's harsh training regime, Alanah remained a pace ahead of them, driven by something greater than herself. Even though they were all bursting out of breath, Alanah found it within herself to shriek, "Tell me where my sister is!"

Fortunately for the confused apprentice, Suvanah peaked out from one of the side rooms before flinging herself at Alanah. Although apparently unharmed, it was obvious that something was terribly wrong. Suvanah looked so much younger than J'red remembered her being, and he had never seen Alanah look so vulnerable. Something about the way her face crumpled when she cried disgusted him. He had never seen her cry before. He stood awkwardly by Lotty. He had expected there to be some scandal surrounding his visit, given Alanah's state, but he hadn't expected a family crisis. He turned to the healer and whispered, "What happened?"

The apprentice, whom was obviously still recovering from the shock of Alanah's rather dramatic entrance, balked under the pressure of being addressed by a dragonman. J'red said sharply, "It would do to answer me."

Mustering his courage, the apprentice answered irately, "There was an accident with the young ladies betrothed out on the fishing boats earlier this morning. The poor lad was dead before they could get him to shore, the rigging snapped and bashed his head in. Naturally, the lady has been quite hysterical, yet for reasons that I cannot fully understand Master Healer Urquhart seems to think that entertaining her ridiculous refusal to take a felis drought to calm her nerves is a good idea."

Even though he felt as if he was intruding on something terribly private, he couldn't help but steal a glance at Suvanah and Alanah. Normally, it was as if the two were cast from opposing molds, both in terms of their physique and emotional state. It was quite upsetting for J'red, although he couldn't quite articulate why the sight made him feel uncomfortable, to see the bond between the two sisters fully realized. Placing his hand on Lotty's shoulder, he excused himself from the room.

* * *

The atmosphere of Captain Sarbine's quarters were undeniably masculine. Despite the price of hide, complex diagrams drawn with carbon were scattered over the table, held in down by strategically placed clay mugs. The basket of glows in the middle of the table had long since been due for replacement, even though it was late afternoon, with the heavy curtains drawn for privacy, the room was unpleasantly dark. Unsurprisingly the accommodations suited Lotty, whom was had sprawled into one of the dark, wooden chairs. Although she nursed a mug of beer and chatted amiably with Sarbine, there was an intensity in her eyes that betrayed the casual atmosphere she was trying to cultivate. J'red sat stiffly at her right as they waited for Suvanah and Alanah to return.

She held the cold mug at her lips, "I find the whole story about Lady quite remarkable. You know that in certain parts of Pern the existence of Firelizards is debated, much less their ability to bond with humans. Of course back at Ista we have all sorts of records about this sort of thing, although there is one part that I find peculiar about the story."

"Which is?"

"The fact that she left you. Of course, it's not terribly uncommon for greens to disappear like she did. Greens of all sorts are silly little creatures, but Golden Queens. Some have proposed that the same thing is true with dragons, that queenriders bond closest to their dragons."

J'red remained silent. For some reason Lotty's comment caused a knot to form somewhere in his heart. _Poor Billiron_. It wasn't exactly that he missed the concept of having Billi around, they had never really been fond of each other. Nor was it in the same vein as Alanah's empathetic sadness with her sister. It was a realization that as much as he had disliked Suvanah while she was courted him, the idea of her betrothing Billiron in Alanah's place was nearly as repugnant as the idea of Alanah and Billiron. It was a realization of his own jealously for Billi, even in the other man's death. Lotty turned to him, "Is something wrong, you've barely _touched_ you beer. It's not like you really knew that man, did you?"

J'red shrugged, "No, I suppose not," he lied through his teeth, "Talkemeth has spent the day chasing whitewings trying to impress your Salkith. I think his exhaustion is just rubbing off on me."

Before he could say another word, there was a knock on Sarbine's door, which after the Captain's permission to do so, swung open, revealing Alanah and her sister. J'red couldn't tell if Suvanah had finally given into the healer's requests that she take something to calm her nerves, or if she had decided to try to tackle her grief with the wine she and her parents had been saving for her wedding, but her intoxication was obvious. She leaned heavily against her thicker sister. Suvanah blurted out, "Will you take me there, the dragonweyr?"

Alanah hushed her younger sister, and directed her into one of the seats in Sarbine's room. She looked tired as she explained, "J'red, I have to ask you a favor. We need to take Suvanah with us tonight. I can't leave her behind. There is nothing left for her now."

J'red was caught off-guard by this request. His eyes fell upon Suvanah. Her grief had transformed her into a feral looking creature. Her stupid childish coyness had been replaced with something desperately hungry. There was a predatory look in her eyes as she asked, "So?"

J'red noticed, not of the first time, how delicate her wrists were. His response was ripped from his chest, "No."

Alanah opened her mouth to protest, but before J'red could even explain his compulsive conclusion, Lotty, whom remained poised, insect-like over her beer, said sharply, "J'red is of course absolutely right. She had _not_ been approved by an official search party and the Weyr tends to look down upon such obvious acts of nephotony. Disregarding the idiocy of making important life choices in as fragile of a state as your sister clearly is, taking to to the Weyr is completely out of the question. If supporting your sister is so important to you, you're more than welcome to stay here."

Alanah turned to Lotty, and for a moment J'red was afraid that she was going to slap the queenrider, but instead she returned her focus to J'red, and said with surprising clarity, "Suvanah has nothing here J'red. You know as well as I do what prospects this damned place holds for her."

Feeding off of Lotty's coolly detached attitude towards the situation at hand, J'red reasoned, "Suvanah is an attractive young girl. As tragic as the whole situation is, she'll surely be able to find a suitable husband in a reasonable period of time--"

Suvanh suddenly burst out giggling, but the sound was far from merry, "You fools. Talking about me like I'm some sort of pretty doll. I am here you know. I have ears you know. Let me tell you something Jabred, let me tell you," her tone had turned suddenly accusatory, "Because it looks like some things that you'll never understand. You know as well as I do that I am no virgin. I tried, oh Faranth knows how hard I tried to get you to stay here. Not that anything came of it. Not that I really expected it. I'm not stupid. You weren't the only one either, so don't think you're special. You're all the same. I don't know what attracts a man to stand by a woman's side, but I obviously don't have it, because Billiron was the only man whom has ever given a wherries-arse about what I wanted."

It was hard for Lotty to hide her delight over the fact that the sister of J'bred's _beloved_ Alanah was little more than her Hold's token strumpet. She feigned controlled concern and said, "Darling, you're getting yourself hysterical now. I'm terribly sorry about not being able to take you to the Weyr with us, but you must understand that you'll be _eaten alive _by the dragonmen. You really do seem better suited to Hold life, and I'm sure that you'll be able to find yourself another to betroth and wed. Perhaps once you've calmed down, if it's your reputation that you're worried about, we could even arrange to bring you to another hold entirely. When I left Nerat I shattered the hopes of many fine young men, if you'd like I'm sure that J'red and I could even arrange something for you."

J'red nodded though his jaw remained tightly clenched. He did the only thing that a man in his situation could do, embed themselves in the distant cool of his Talkemeth. As he stood and excused himself from the table, he caught Sarbine's eyes. The older man said, so softly that J'red wasn't entirely unconvinced it wasn't his imagination which placed the words in the captain's mouth, "Perhaps you're not as stupid as you look Dragonman.


	6. Chapter 6

_The story is finally starting to get off of the ground, and I'm very excited to have made it to this point. I feel like I'm waffling around a bit too much with this story, and will probably go back to the earlier chapters at some point in time to "tighten them up" a little bit. This chapter was extremely long, so I've decided to split it into smaller portions (hence the rather short chapter). Once again, thanks for reading and I appreciate everybody's input. _

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**1225.10.02**

**Ista Weyr**

Talkemeth wedged himself between Salkith and one of the Weyr's adult bronzes, despite the fact that a large blue would have been pressed to occupy the space comfortably. Salkith, whom was already in a sour mood, was not impressed by this choice. She sat awkwardly, trying to occupy as much space on the ledge as physically possible, hoping to drive Talkemeth to find a better place to bask. This merely caused him to retort, _'I'm only here because there is no space next to Rahobath.'_

Inside the Weyrwoman's Counsel, his rider was facing a surprisingly similar dilemma. Although their graduation was still a few months away, preparations were underway for incorporating J'red's Weyrling class into the adult wings of the Weyr. The peace of the interval permitted this process to proceed leisurely. J'red was among the select group of young bronze and brownriders whom Q'lin had labeled as especially promising. In addition to completing the normal rotations through the fighting wings which all Weyrlings were expected to complete before their graduation, J'red was given the opportunity for additional training, in hope to better groom him for future leadership.

Under circumstances which did not involve sharing a threadbare bench with Lotty, J'red would have welcomed the opportunity. Unfortunately the rest of the seats in the room had already been occupied by unusually punctual bronzeriders, leaving J'red with little choice but to squeeze himself next to the junior Weyrwoman. She folded her hands and greeted him coolly, "Talkemeth looks well."

J'red's response was equally distant, "Indeed."

When Talkemeth was younger, J'red had always assumed that he would be immune to the hormonal tide which ruled the Weyr. While he had been able to resist the contagious moodiness of the Weyr's greens, he had never before experienced the pull of an impending goldflight. Although Salkith was, from a purely technical standpoint, considered far too young to be at risk for the deadly synergy of simultaneous goldflight, the change in her (and her rider's) behavior was marked. Even Talkemeth had begun to nurse the notion that _he_ could be the Weyrleader's dragon. Although J'red supported these dreams, it had already been decided that the bronzes in his Weyrling class would be shipped away from the Weyr with the junior queen, to avoid the possibility of injuries and unprepared leadership. Talkemeth's frustration was infectious.

Like the other bronzerider's assembled in the Counsel chamber, S'itar was brimming with thinly veiled nervous energy. He looked around the room, appraising the other men and their dragon's behind a gentile smile, "I'd like to thank you all for assembling at such a short notice, especially given the current atmosphere of the Weyr."

Helmsay stood, although she was not unattractive, J'red knew that the surge of lust in the back of his throat had nothing to do with his personal opinions towards the Weyrwoman. With the exception of Lotty, whom was busy glowering at the carvings on the table legs, all eyes in the room fell upon her. J'red was simultaneously awed and disgusted by the sudden sway she held over him. He'd fling himself _between_ if it would have pleased her. Her voice dripped with disgust, "I'd like to remind _all_ of you that this is a Counsel meeting, not a fardling meat-market."

J'red tried to pry his eyes off of her, but found this request quite impossible. He was not alone in this fact. She huffed and said rather shrilly, "If this is how you all are going to act, there really isn't any point in trying to have a civilized conversation."

She spun on her heal and stormed out of the room, making a point to slam the heavy door of the chamber behind her.

_'Rahobath is very angry. Should I try to comfort her my rider?'_

_"No. She's liable to try to blood you."_

_'Salkith thinks that it would be an improvement. Should I ask if--'_

_"No. Be restful my dearest, we must wait."_

J'red caught Lotty snickering at him. Undoubtedly she was having this conversation mirrored with her Salkith. Snickering was better than threatening bodily harm, thus an improvement. S'itar stood, and looked somewhat helplessly after his Weyrwoman. He cleared his throat and said, "This may very well be the last time I address you as your Weyrleader. In light of the recent changes in this meeting's agenda, I believe it may be prudent if preparations are made immediately to remove non-participants from the Weyr common. Lotty, does Salkith have anything to say on this point?"

Lotty shrugged, "She thinks that Rahobath's rider is being a fool and putting on a show, but I can hardly disagree with her on that point."

S'itar pursed his lips tightly together. It was obvious that he shared Lotty's opinion on this matter, but unlike the Weyrling Goldrider, he had no angry queen to utilize as his mouthpiece. He had told Helmsay that it was a bad idea to even attempt to gather any number of Bronzeriders in a room together to try to talk Weyr logistics under the influence of Rahobath's impending flight. Lotty was still incredibly young, and naive in her own ways, but she was proving to be a more stable pick than Helmsay. She might have a jaw like a runner, and a sneer capable of castrating bull herdbeasts, but she wasn't bad looking... Visibly, S'itar shook himself, "_Immediately_ Lotty."

For a fleeting moment Lotty contemplated outright disobedience. Each of the men in this room could be _her_ bronzeriders, J'red could be _her_s. Everything in the Weyr could belong to her, if it wasn't for Rahobath. The risks were incredible, but if Salkith was willing she wouldn't try to resist. It was only once she realized that all of the eyes in the room had turned to her, that she was able to pull away from this dangerous fantasy. She smiled and stood, "Of course Weyrleader. Salkith and I will leave for Nerat immediately. Would you mind terribly if I asked J'red to bring some of my belongings when he gets a chance, I've already discussed taking a few days to visit my family with Master Q'lin."

S'itar just nodded, and waved her away. According to Seecath, Rahobath had retreated to her weyr with Helmsay. If this was true, it was likely that the queen would rise in only a handful of hours. Lotty left the room with an unmistakably provocative flourish of her skirt. For the time being, she and Salkith would retreat away from the Weyr and yield to Rahobath's seniority. Both Rahobath and Salkith were small for their color, but Rahobath was much heavier and stronger. Although she remained aloof, Salkith's eyes betrayed the queens disquiet, _'We should leave. These are not my bronzes'_

Lotty nodded, suddenly nostalgic for the days when she could scratch Salkith's eye ridges without having the queen's cooperation. She said softly, "Talkemeth will be coming to visit us later."

Salkith turned to the young bronze as she crouched down for her rider, _'I suppose he'll do.'_

With the familiar weight of Lotty on her back, Salkith spread her pale wings wide and launched herself into the air. The young queen and her rider moved so quickly that for a moment some made the false assumption that she was rising. There was no need for them to brace for bloodshed. With the image of green fields and high tides pressed into her head, Salkith gracefully threw herself between reality. Rahobath would be safe.


End file.
